Lajja

by Taslima Nasrin

  Suronjon had been a brilliant student during his university days. Many fellow students asked him to give them lessons. Yet during the finals, all of them scored more than him. The same situation was repeated when it came to jobs. Men who had lower scores than him seemed to get all the teaching positions.

  He went for some interviews, here and there. The interviewers never got the better of him. Yet, much to Suronjon’s surprise, the boys who left saying that their interviews had not gone well would get the appointments. Nothing came his way. Apparently in some interview panels, they had discussed the fact that Suronjon lacked etiquette and did not greet the interviewers respectfully. Suronjon, however, did not believe that saying as-salamu alaykum, namaskar or aadaab was the only way of showing respect. There were many men who gushed and said as-salamu alaykum but would leave the interview room and refer to the interviewer as the ‘child of a pig’. But these were the people who were recognized as well mannered and they succeeded in interviews.

  Suronjon did not say as-salamu alaykum but he would not call his teachers any names either. However, it appeared that he had become famous—or rather, notorious—as a young man without manners. He was not able to understand whether it was the lack of manners or the fact that he was a Hindu that was the cause behind his never being able to get a government job. He joined a private company but did not like working there. After three months he quit.

  On the other hand, Maya was able to fit in. She tutored students privately. Apparently she also had a job lined up with an NGO. Suronjon surmised that these were organized for her by Jahangir. Would Maya end up marrying the man to express her gratitude? These slivers of anxiety wanted to settle in Suronjon’s breast, much like a weaver bird gathering odds and ends to build a nest.

  Kironmoyee stood before Suronjon with a cup of tea. There were bags under her eyes. Suronjon realized that she had barely slept at night. He did not want to let her know that he had not slept either.

  ‘I hadn’t realized it was so late,’ he said, yawning, pretending he had slept soundly.

  If he had had a good night’s sleep, he would have woken up early and gone for a walk or a jog. Kironmoyee stood there with the cup of tea. She did not leave it on the table and go away. Suronjon inferred that Kironmoyee wanted to say something. She did not say anything, though. She waited like she was expecting her son to take the cup from her. Suronjon understood that there was now a vast distance between them and this had made her stand there, still and silent.

  ‘So, hasn’t Maya come back today either?’ he asked to begin the conversation.

  ‘No.’

  She replied eagerly, as though she had been waiting for a question. It was as if she had been able to speak only after Suronjon had said something. She then sat on the bed, close enough for her son to touch her. Suronjon surmised that she was sitting so close because her insecurity had made her anxious. He looked away from Kironmoyee’s faded sari, uncombed hair and sleepless eyes.

  Suronjon sat up straight and began sipping his tea. ‘Why isn’t she coming back? Are the Muslims saving her? Doesn’t she trust us? She’s not even bothered to find out how we are. Is it enough if only she lives?’

  Kironmoyee kept quiet. As he drank his tea, Suronjon lit a cigarette. He never smoked in front of his parents, but today as he lit a match to his cigarette and let out a mouthful of smoke, he did not even remember that he didn’t smoke in his mother’s presence. It was as if that day was not a ‘normal’ day like other days. The distance that had been created between mother and son had closed. There was a thin wall between them but even that was breaking down. It had been a long time since he had put his hand in his mother’s lap, seeking her affection. Do sons grow up and move away from their mothers’ touch? Suronjon wanted to lie with his head in his mother’s lap and, like a child, talk of flying kites in his boyhood days. Nobin mama, when he came from Sylhet, made the most marvellous kites and flew them wonderfully! His kites would bring down all the other kites in the sky and simply fly.

  Suronjon looked longingly at his mother’s lap.

  ‘Did Kemal, Belal or anyone else come yesterday?’ he asked as he blew out the last bits of smoke from his cigarette.

  ‘No,’ said Kironmoyee in a faint voice.

  It was strange that Kemal had not even come to inquire—or was it that his friends thought that Suronjon was dead? Could it also be that they were no longer interested in keeping him alive?

  ‘Where did you go yesterday? There were just the two of us at home,’ said Kironmoyee slowly, almost choking. ‘Don’t you think about what might happen? Suppose something had happened when you were out? Goutom had gone to the corner shop in the afternoon to buy eggs and he was beaten up by some Muslim boys. Two of his front teeth are broken. Apparently his leg is broken too.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘Do you remember Gita’s mother, who used to come to work here two years ago from Shonir Akhara? She had no home. They’d burnt it down. She left her job with us because she wanted to build a new house on her land. And she built it too, by working in different peoples’ houses and saving money.

  ‘She came early in the morning. She’s on the streets with her children. This time too they have razed her newly built house to rubble. There’s nothing on her land. She asked me this morning. “Boudi, where can I get poison?” I think she’s gone mad.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Suronjon and put his cup next to the pillow.

  ‘We would be far more anxious about Maya, if she came here.’

  ‘Does that mean she’ll always need to find shade under the umbrellas of Muslims?’ asked Suronjon harshly.

  He too had once taken everyone to Kemal’s house. At that time, he had not felt so humiliated about taking shelter in a Muslim home. He thought that a few people were doing despicable things and that would pass. After all, every country had its share of wrongdoers. He no longer thought that. He no longer felt that this was simply the wrongdoing of some low-minded people. He now suspected a large, deep conspiracy. Yes, that is what he thought. Suronjon no longer wanted to believe that Kemal, Belal, Qaiser and Lutfor were not communal.

  Had there been a people’s movement asking for Bismillah to be included in the Constitution in 1978 that had made Ziaur Rahman’s government bring in Bismillah? In 1988, had the people cried to have Islam made the state religion that Ershad’s government acted to make it happen? Why did they do it? Apparently Bengali Muslims believed firmly in secularism—especially those who were in favour of the Liberation War. How was it that they were not perturbed when they saw that a poisonous tree was being planted in the structure of the state? They could have done a lot had they felt perturbed! The hot-blooded citizens of this country had fought and won a great war but how were they cold-blooded like snakes now? How could they not be moved to destroy the saplings of communalism at their very roots? How dare they now even think that democracy could ever come to this country without secularism? Had such a democracy ever existed? The forces in favour of the Liberation were now talking of a democracy without secularism. Was this what the people of progressive movements had come to?

  ‘Do you know that they broke the Sowarighat temple yesterday? The Shyampur temple too?’ said Kironmoyee sadly.

  Suronjon stretched.

  ‘Did you ever go to temples?’ he asked. ‘Why are you upset that temples have been destroyed? Let them destroy some more. Where’s the harm? Let these nurseries of religion be smashed to smithereens.’

  ‘They get angry if a mosque is broken down. Don’t they know that Hindus are furious if temples are broken? Or is it that they don’t understand? They are breaking hundreds of temples to compensate for one mosque. Isn’t Islam a religion of peace?’ Kironmoyee said in response. ‘The Muslims know that the Hindus of this country will not be able to do anything even if they are angry. Therefore, they are doing whatever they want to. Has anyone been able to touch a single mosque?

&n
bsp; ‘The temple at Naya Bazar has been lying broken for two years. Children climb on it and dance, they pee there. Does any Hindu have the might to rain two blows on the gleaming walls of a mosque?’

  Kironmoyee left silently. Suronjon understood that this person who had built a world within herself, who had long stopped venturing outside her household, she who did not differentiate between Parveen and Archana, had suddenly been rattled. She too had begun to ask whether only Muslims felt fury, anger and pride.

  Two

  The humiliation of Hindus and the attacks on their temples did not begin with the attack on the Babri Masjid in October 1990. Suronjon remembered that on 21 April 1979 a man called Ayub Ali broke the image of Kali in the historic Kali temple in Saheb Bazar in Rajshahi. And after that he also destroyed shops owned by Hindus.

  In that year on 16 April, the idol of Ramgopal, which signified much cultural history, was stolen from the Ramgopal temple in Ramgopalpara in the sub-district of Shoilokupa in Jhinaidoho. Later, the badly damaged idol was found near the crematorium at Shoilokupa. However, the gold and silver ornaments of the idol were never found.

  The Joygopalhat Kali temple in Purno Lalanagar village of Sitakundo was burnt to a cinder. The idol at Durgabari in Kuraisha Chandgaon in North Chandgaon was also destroyed.

  Two months after the National Religion Bill was passed, the black-stone idol belonging to the old Kalachand temple, near the Dokkhindihi village in the Phultola sub-district of Khulna, was stolen along with all the gold jewellery that adorned it. The police arrested and tortured the secretary of the temple committee when he went to the police station to complain. Arrest warrants were issued for each member of the temple committee. The assistant superintendent of police went to the locality for investigations and threatened the Hindus, accusing them of stealing the idol from the temple.

  On the night of 8 December, a marble image of Shiva, idols of Radhagobindo and Annapurna, and another stone image of Shiva were stolen from the ancient temple of Dwimukha village in the Kalihati sub-district of Tangail. A team from the police station found out that the idols were stolen by Noor Mohammad Talukdar but they did nothing to recover them.

  In Comilla, an organization called Bishwo Islam or World Islam wrote to the Hindus of Moynamoti Union of the Burichong sub-district of Comilla that Hindus should immediately leave this country. The letter warned that unless Hindus stopped their worship and religious rituals there would be riots. On 14 April, the banyan tree next to the Kali temple was doused with petrol and set alight. In Moynamoti Bazar, a man called Ali Ahmed announced that a riot was needed to evict all the Hindus.

  On 11 March, a mob of more than a hundred attacked the Sri Sri Modonmohon Akhara in the Lalmohan sub-district of Bhola, where people had gathered to sing religious songs. They stormed into the temple, broke the idol and beat up the devotees there. They entered various temples in Dattapara and broke idols, plundered temples and set them on fire, as if they were playing a game.

  In Borotia village in the Ghior sub-district of Manikganj, a tombstone for the advocate Jillur Ahmed and a mosque were to be built right next to the ancient Sri Sri Kali Mata temple. The Hindus felt apprehensive that this would create obstacles for their rites of worship. In Kalirhat in the Union of Mohammadpur, in the sub-district of Chatkhil in Noakhali, the Hindus had been worshipping at a particular temple for a long time. The local Muslims conspired amongst themselves, usurped the temple and now ran businesses from there.

  On the night of 26 May, people broke the idol in the Lakshmi temple of Faukal village of the municipality of Gajipur and they took the idol’s head with them.

  During the Chaitra Sankranti observances in Kashtoshagra village, in the sub-district headquarters of the district of Jhinaidoho, when the Charak Puja was on at night at the Mothbari, a gang of men launched an attack. They thrashed the priest, messed up the religious offerings and snatched away the ceremonial drum. A case was registered but no one was arrested.

  At nine o’clock at night on 14 March 1979, several Muslims attacked and damaged the Kali temple in Purbopara in the Nijra sub-district of Gopalganj. They broke the lock on the Shiva temple in Ulpur and stole the Shivalinga and many other valuable things.

  On 17 October 1988, in Thanapara in the Kushtia district headquarters, an image of the goddess Durga was broken.

  Before the Durga Puja, the most important festival of the Bengali Hindus, the images of the goddess and her children were smashed by some Muslims in Paler Bazar in the Khulna district headquarters. The image of Durga was destroyed in Gobra in Joshor.

  The ashram or monastery of the religious leader Sri Sri Pronobanondoji Maharaj is an important cultural landmark in Khulna. On 1 October 1988 the image of the goddess Durga in the monastery was destroyed.

  On 30 September, at the Kaliganj bus stop in Satkheera the image of Durga was ground to dust.

  The imam of the Jam-e-Masjid of Modhugram, in the Dumuria sub-district of Khulna, sent out a letter to all the local organizers of the Durga Puja saying that Puja rituals would have to come to a stop during azan and namaz. The letter reached its recipients on 17 October.

  The communal forces marched in a procession in Khulna in early October, chanting ‘Down with idol worship! Smash the idols! Break them!’

  On 23 October, in the village of Mohishkola in the sub-district of Kumarkhali in Kushtia district, the image of the goddess in the Kali temple was smashed.

  An idol of Durga that was being made in the Kali temple in Kaliganj Bazar in the Kaliganj sub-district of Gajipur was destroyed just before the Puja.

  On 30 September, in Nokipur village in the Shyamnagar sub-district of Satkheera, they broke the image that had been created for the Puja in the temple in Horitola.

  The wall of the Kali temple was broken in the Bhandaria sub-district of Pirojpur and a drain was built in its place.

  On Bijoya Dashami, the last day of the Durga Puja, fundamentalists damaged the image of the goddess Durga in Phuljhuri Bazar in Borguna district. In the Bukabunia Union of the Bamna sub-district they broke the image of Durga a few days before the Puja. And no judgement was pronounced on these acts.

  Bangladesh was apparently a country where there was harmony amongst communities. As he thought this, Suronjon began to laugh. He was alone in the room, Kironmoyee was no longer there. There was a cat lying by the door and it was startled by the sound of Suronjon’s laughter. Did the cat not go to the Dhakeshwari temple today? What creed did this cat belong to? Was it Hindu? It probably was, because it lived in the home of Hindus. It was a mixture of black and white with enchanting blue eyes that held pity. So, the cat must be Muslim! It was obviously a broad-minded Muslim with a conscience, the kind who had now taken to looking at Hindus with eyes full of pity. The cat moved away. More often than not, there was no cooking in this house these days and so it was possible that the cat was making itself comfortable in the kitchen of the Muslims next door. Hence, obviously, the cat had no community or religion. Such things are for humans only. Human beings have temples and mosques. Suronjon saw that the sun was on the steps; it was late and it was 9 December. He wished he were a cat! He had never been one for worshipping as Hindus are, or for going to temples. He had vowed to bring socialism to the country, had at one time roamed the streets and said impressive things at meetings. He had thought about farmers, about workers and the country’s economic and social development. He had hardly ever thought about himself or his family. But now he, Suronjon, was being singled out as a Hindu. If the young men of his neighbourhood saw him they’d yell, ‘Grab him. Grab the Hindu.’ They had not beaten him up yet but they probably would quite soon. Goutom was assaulted when he went to buy eggs. It was likely that on one of Suronjon’s trips to Moti’s shop at the end of the road, where he bought cigarettes, he would suddenly be punched hard on his back and the cigarette would go flying from his lips and fall to the ground. He would turn around and see Quddus, Rohoman, Belayet a
nd Sobahan standing around with strong sticks and sharp knives in their hands. As Suronjon imagined this, he shut his eyes. His skin prickled and his hair stood on end. Was Suronjon scared? He was not the kind of man who was easily frightened.

  He got out of bed and looked for the cat. The house was so quiet. It felt like it had been empty for a long time. In 1971 when they came back from the village they found that the Brahmopolli house had been taken over by tall grass. There was a sombre silence all around. There was nothing in the house; Suronjon could not find his tops, marbles, kites, chessboard, carrom board or books. Going into that terribly empty house had shaken him deeply. He felt shaken like that now. Did Sudhamoy lie in bed all day? Suppose his blood pressure was high, who would call the doctor? Suronjon had never done tasks like going to the market, buying medicines, calling workmen or buying newspapers. He ate his meals at home, sometimes all three. He usually came home quite late at night. It was possible to enter into his room from the outside, so on nights when he was very late, he did just that. When he needed money he took money either from Kironmoyee or Sudhamoy. He felt embarrassed to ask them for money. He was thirty-three years old but did not have an income.

  ‘I’m retired,’ Sudhamoy said. ‘You need to do something.’

  ‘I can’t do a job, work for someone,’ Suronjon replied and thus avoided responsibility.

  Sudhamoy saw patients in his drawing room and tried to keep the home fires burning. And Suronjon came home late in the evening. He’d go to the Party office, Modhu’s canteen, to the office of the Ghaatok-Dalal Nirmul Committee, the Press Club, or No. 32, and come home tired. His food would be covered and kept for him on the dining table. Some nights he ate and some nights he went straight to bed. And this is how a distance had been created between him and his family. This morning, however, when Kironmoyee had brought him tea and sat on his bed, Suronjon realized that his parents still relied greatly on their indifferent, irresponsible and almost vagabond son. What had he given his family? A formerly affluent Sudhamoy was now reduced to belching contentedly after eating a simple meal of dal and rice. Those simple meals pleased Suronjon too but he remembered that as a child they used to clamp his nose and he had to perforce gulp down his milk. His refusal to eat butter would bring on spankings. Suppose he were now to tell Kironmoyee that he wanted full-cream milk and butter; and in the afternoons he wanted fish and meat and parathas fried in ghee—would Sudhamoy be able to provide them? It was indeed true that Suronjon did not hanker for luxury or comfort and this was because of Sudhamoy. In the days when Suronjon’s friends were busy getting clothes tailored in the latest designs, Sudhamoy would bring his son books about the lives of Einstein, Newton and Galileo, the history of the French Revolution, of the Second World War, and the works of Gorky and Tolstoy. Sudhamoy wanted his son to grow up to be the right kind of person. That morning, as he searched for the cat without community or religion, Suronjon wondered whether he had become the right kind of person. He felt no greed, he did not hanker after property or things. He thought more about the good of the community than about benefits for himself. Was this kind of human being the right kind of person? Suronjon began to pace aimlessly in the veranda.